Karma Police
by Spesvie
Summary: Trepid writer Edward travels back to his hometown of Forks after a 6 year absence to hopefully find inspiration for his career, or a way out of it.
1. It's Not Enough

**Karma Police**  
_I've given all I can_

_It's not enough_

_And for a moment there, I lost myself._

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" I pulsed to my unnerving veil of a friend, the only one I have, that is. Better be half way decent to Emmet today or else I'm really fucked.

"To keep them interested, Edward," he spat, noticeably annoyed with my lack of commitment to "preserving my 'mystique' amidst an unending supply of fresh, literary meat," or so he said about every other day when I began questioning what it really was that I was after anyway.

Emmet was always sensitive to my sporadic, yet consistently frequent, outbursts; but being my best friend/only friend/agent, it was in his best interest to keep me focused yet feisty. He said it made for better "material." Yeah, whatever.

"So I'm there for twenty minutes, make the rounds, then…" I huffed. Parties weren't my thing. Ever since…yeah, another story for another time.

"Let's multiply that by three. Shelton will be there and you'd better make good with him if you want any prospects in the next year or two. He's like top now; nothing gets through without his approval."

Shelton was the biggest dick face I had ever seen. Another "insta-author" that made it big selling rehashed shit a toddler with a mild processing deficiency could have stamped out on his speak-n-spell. I'm dating myself here, iPad? Fuck technology.

"Ok, I'll give it 40 minutes, tops, then I'm leaving. I'm not pushing my trip back again. I need it to help research my next…"

"Research my ass, Eddie. What the fuck can possibly be researched more in that god-forsaken log ditch of a town you grew up in that hasn't been done already, huh?"

He had a point, as much as I didn't want to admit it. That's why I had labeled my trip back home as a research project, simply because it got him off my back for a few days longer. I hadn't been back to Forks in 6 years, since graduating high school a year early at 17 and immediately accepting a ridiculously over-played scholarship to Columbia. They would've gotten me to commit with a box of Hot Pockets and promise of top-bunk privileges for the first two semesters. A full ride was, well, overkill, but shit, I wasn't about to pass out on perhaps my only ticket out and away from a place about as uninspiring as a box of tissues.

Forks would always be home to me. It was where my family had been rooted down for nearly our entire known ancestry, and the place my parents and siblings still called home. I'd been back occasionally, for Christmas every year, but by the second chorus of "Jingle Bells" I'd be high-tailing it back to Chicago, missing my oversized bed and slurpy mut of a best friend, Bear. My parents understood this need to be with myself, however, and simply squeezed me a bit tighter each time I left their warm embraces to head back to my "real life," or whatever this series of events that is my life had become.

"I'll do an hour, ok? Then…" I huffed.

"I'll have a car brought to the front of The Drake at half past nine. Call Jeremy if you don't see him waiting."

"Thanks Em. And don't forget to enjoy a few days yourself. You know, go to LakeShore and let off some steam. Maybe even go on a date or something," I instructed.

"Let's not get our hopes up. But thanks, man. Safe trip!"

With a resolute nod, Emmet headed down the stairs, leaving me with my thoughts and one hell of a migraine. Publishing House parties "aka House Parties" always put me on edge. Tonight would be no different.


	2. Fake Smiles for Miles

**Chapter 2:**

**Fake Smiles for Miles**

_Faces in the crowd_  
_Fake smiles for miles_  
_My imitations wrong, of them again._  
_Something's got to change again_

_I'm losing; my inspiration's gone._

_Hate Every Beautiful Day by Sugarcult_

I've been told champagne gets your drunk faster; something to do with the bubbles. Walking into the lobby of The Drake hotel, I wished a champagne Jacuzzi was available for a quick detour, but I suppose downing two glasses right off the bat would help enough.

Shit, where are my sunglasses? I swear these women and their sequins, reflecting and drowning me with the horrific ballroom lighting covering their decrepit, contract-scheming souls. Wives of authors or half-bred romance author whose only published piece comes complete with a pull-out Fabio poster on the inside cover jacket, lined and ready to be wiped after each nightly use. Sick fucks.

So why was I here again? Oh yeah, Shelton. Smile and play nice, or else Em will hear about it one way or another. Grabbing another flute of champagne, I began to survey the room. I was dressed in my good suit, as I called it, black and fitted, with a white shirt and no tie. Too constricting and pretentious for me. My hair was its usual bronze mess, though I've been told it was one of my best attributes. The stares from a busty brunette in the corner confirmed this to me, but who has time for relationships in this business? Unless fucking your way to the top fits the bill.

I earned my ticket, to put it casually, into this set of Chicago society life from an unassuming blog turned book I began the summer before senior year of high school. It was a sort of comical look at the youth of the time, before Twitter and Facespace went and fucking threw the earth off its axis. It grabbed people's attention in Forks, placing me on some sort of unattainable platform for the female population of my already slim-picked town, causing me to basically put the whole "get laid, pay later" mentality on hold indefinitely. My 20s hadn't reopened that doorway for me despite my book deal granting me a contract with the mid-west's biggest publishing house, plastering the promise of a hefty bonus once my next work was completed. Well, that was five years ago, and I've written nothing of solid worth since.

Em blamed it on my lack of "material," thus forcing me to go to extremes. I'd realized a few months ago that the life I had surrounding me just wasn't cutting it. Yeah, I had a nice apartment in Wicker Park, a busty blonde girlfriend named Tanya who was nice arm candy for events, and plenty of "friends" (ie: people I had to see at the office and the occasional House Party); but it wasn't enough to make me feel the way I did in Forks. I always brushed off going home as a necessary evil—see the rents, crush Jasper in a headlock for breaking curfew, get my teeth cleaned—but what I never had the guts to admit was that Forks was where my heart beat. Everywhere else was that dusty shit you wipe off your windowsill after not cleaning up for weeks. But I wasn't about to admit that to just anyone.

So I smiled, did a turn about the room, gave a reassuring "yeah, I'll kiss your ass if I have to" nod to Shelton, downed another flute, and walked through the lobby just as Jeremy text me saying he was down the street. In four hours I'd be wheels down at Sea-Tac, and only another three and a half before I could breathe again.


	3. A Little Less Insane

**Chapter 3:**

**A Little Less Insane**

_I like songs about drifters - books about the same.  
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.  
Walked on off to another spot.  
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want.  
Did I want love? Did I need to know?  
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?_

_World at Large by Modest Mouse_

I had an unannounced tradition once arriving in Forks. I purposely delayed my actual arrival at the Cullen home for a minimum of 24 hours, allowing me time to decompress before the immediate onslaught of family attention, and to visit A Shot in the Dark, home of the best espresso this side of the Mississippi-that's a lie. It actually sucks, but it _is_ about the only place in town to get a decent Americano.

I had my car indefinitely housed in the long-term lot at Sea-Tac, as rentals weren't really my thing. Sliding into my sleek, black Audi S4, complete with the bells and whistles to be expected from a kid who made it big in his late teens, when a fast car and hot girlfriend were about all one could care about, I began the winding drive home. Man, things have changed. My priorities now were getting a solid eight each night, and a decent pad thai every week or so. Lame, but I kept shit simple in hopes of finding something outside of my life to distract me again-which brings me back to my trip home to Forks. I didn't know exactly what it was I was searching for now; part of me just hoped it would come slap itself me in the face, but perhaps I was asking for too much.

After running a few errands and bumbling about "downtown" Forks for a few hours, I thought it'd be in my best interest to start on the scenic drive back home. Top down, wind splashing my face and lacing through wayward strands of hair, I breathed the air in huge gulps, as if just returning back to the surface after being under too long. It felt good. Everything about Forks felt real to me-from the innumerable dark hues of green saturating each tree branch, to glimpses of La Push beach that would occasionally break through the sprays of trees, making me feel tiny again, small and facing a world larger and far more powerful than one person could handle. For me, it was heaven on earth.

And who should be waiting at the shiny gold gates of said heaven? That'd be Esme, my loving, kind, and entirely too-cheery mother. As I pulled into the large, brick driveway, I saw her, smiling, and peering out of the front bay window in her ruffled purple apron, a favorite of mine, as it signaled an afternoon in the kitchen and probably something delicious simmering on the stove. Her hair, always parted and draped carefully over her shoulder, complimented her petite frame, making my six foot one self tower over her when I scooped her up into a very much needed embrace.

"Edward! Darling!" she gasped, eyes closed with the "I could die now I'm so happy" look on her face when seeing her child after such a long absence.

"Hey Mom," I said into her shoulder, relishing a moment longer in her arms. "You look really great." Pausing, I was aware of the noticeable, yet frequent, absence of my father. "Where's Dad? I thought he'd be waiting with his judging stare the minute I stepped out of the car." I liked to joke that my father was the powerful, overbearing type with high expectations for his underachieving sons. Neither was true in our case, except for Jasper, maybe. He was a real meat-head.

"Oh, honey, he just got called in about twenty minutes ago. He says hello and can't wait to see you at dinner later," she explained, absentmindedly spinning her thin gold wedding band around her tiny finger. My Dad, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, was the town's top, and sometimes, only surgeon. He was in high demand as of late, providing an ungodly amount of "free money," as Japser called it, to the house, keeping Emse busy decorating and Jasper without the need for an afterschool job, or any activity for that matter that didn't involve soccer or trying to get laid.

"Where's Jasper?" I asked, searching the yard, but before I could bring myself to face the house, I felt something smacking me on the side of the face, then explode, drenching my shoulder and two-hundred dollar shirt in what I hoped was water and not cat urine or some other fucked up shit. Snapping my head to the second story balcony, I found Jasper and two of his friends rolling over in laughter, holding the ends of a neon green water balloon launcher, the cause of said soiled shirt.

"Fuck, Jazz! Honestly?" I yelled, with the _you better watch yourself while sleeping tonight_ stare, because he was going to get his. Jasper and I had been close before I left home, him being in middle school, the age where you typically idolized your older, wiser, better looking brother. But he had now grown out of his awkward gangly phase and into the star striker on the Forks High School soccer team. And, being in his senior year, he was taking it for all it was worth. The girls all gawked at his silky and wayward blonde, curly locks, and came out in droves to weekly games and practices. He loved the attention, and the attention loved him. Though we had somewhat grown apart, we talked when I was away, and he'd visit whenever his travel soccer team had a game near Chicago, which was nice as it gave us time to just hang out. Do brotherly things, like hack loogies and give each other wedgies while playing Xbox. The truth is I'd normally get conned into taking Jasper out to whatever club had the longest line and hottest chicks, forcing me to use my status downtown to his advantage. It was glorified babysitting, with a shot of Patron.

"Come on inside," my mother began, throwing me from my hatred-induced walk down memory lane. "I washed your sheets and there are homemade chocolate chip cookies on the counter. Go relax before dinner. I'm sure you're tired." My mother was an angel. She knew that clean sheets and chocolate were definitely the way to my heart.

With that I grabbed my bag and made my way upstairs. My parents had kept my room the same ever since moving to New York after high school, which wasn't a bad thing as I had always had a rather mature decorating sense. No, I wasn't one of those guys who came home after years of being away to find their GI Joe sheets still tucked into their twin sized bed, complete with matching paratrooper hat lamp and grenade-shaped alarm clock. My room was mature, with an oversized, pewter four post bed with slate colored sheets that was angled with the most unreal view of our expansive back yard through the modern sliding glass doors. I could lay there with that view for days, it seemed, and sometimes when I returned home, that's exactly what I did—just stare out into complete oblivion until the real world came punching its way back to me.

Throwing my bag onto the sofa across from my bed, I made my way to the shower where I let the water trickle down my body for at least a half hour before I even touched a bar of soap. Stepping out and toweling off and walking into my room, a blinking red light on my nightstand caught my eye. Shit, it was probably Emmet calling in to make sure I made it in alright.

"Miss me, love?" he moaned after answering my call on the first ring. He was always so annoyingly attentive to me. The boyfriend I never had. Yeah, gross.

"Yeah, don't I always?" I replied.

"So, deets on the House Party the other night. I heard from Leah when I called his office this morning that you made well on your promise to play nice with Shelton."

"If playing nice means not ogling wife number three, then sure. No, the party was ok, nothing great, as usual." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, well, maybe when you get home next week you'll have a nice piece of something to toss at his head to get you that next deal." Em, always the optimistic fuck. I'd been battling the search for new material for years now, with nothing even remotely close to what I'd call decent throwing itself at my keyboard. Snippets of social commentary are fine for a 17 year old wisecracker, but at 23 I was now expected to generate the Holden Caufield of my generation, as if I had the hams to stack up against Salinger. Yeah, I wish.

"Maybe. We'll see." I sighed. In his mind Emmet always called me on my bullshit, but was kind enough to do so silently in the remote confines of his pea brained mind. I shouldn't badger him so much. Em was a good guy, really, though a bit preoccupied with the "game" and the players and beautiful women that came along with working in this industry. He was built, with glassy, clear blue eyes that made up for what he lacked in the brains department. Hell, it wasn't his fault he'd been hit in the head one too many times throwing the meat mallet in college for Stanford.

"Ok, man. Listen, enjoy being home, and I'll check in later this week."

"Thanks, Em. Later," I replied, throwing my phone onto the bed in front of me before doing the same with my body. Before long my eyes had closed, relinquishing myself to my thoughts and maybe some much needed sleep.

I awoke some time later to utter darkness, nothing but the green numbers on my alarm to illuminate my room. 9:35 p.m. Shit. I'd been out for five hours. Grabbing a long sleeved black t-shirt from my bag and slipping it over my head, I ran my fingers through my hair and stretched, shaking out the weariness before heading downstairs.

Yawning, I descended to find my father reading at the kitchen table, alone and illuminated by the one solitary overhead light.

"Edward," my father spoke, lifting his head from his work. "It's so great to see you at home! How was your flight?"

"Long. Cramped. The usual. How are things at the hospital? Mom told me you've been busy."

"Well with the groundbreaking on the new children's wing in a few weeks, things have been more hectic than usual. Busy is good though, so I can't complain. How about you? Shelton still have a stick up his ass?"

I smiled. Carlisle was the only family member privy to my real disillusionment on the whole "career" path I had found myself on. He could sense the stress and disdain in my voice within moments of a conversation, and it was for this reason that I let him further into my heart than most.

"Yeah, well, karma's a bitch so," I replied, rubbing my neck with a slight smile. I was always convinced that Shelton would get his one of these days, and Carlisle would be right there on the sidelines with me to watch it all go down.

"We shall see. Hey, so tomorrow I thought that maybe you'd want to help me out with setting up the yard for the party this weekend. Jasper's off from school, too, so I assumed some father-son bonding was in order."

"Yeah, that sounds good." I lied. What I really wanted to do was sleep for three days straight, yet Carlisle had a way with words.

"Good, and don't wear any of those fancy shoes of yours. Borrow some sneakers from Jasper if you forgot to bring some." This sent a cringe to my face, as I realized that manual labor was now on the docket. "It shouldn't take long if we get started early. Your Mom said she would have breakfast ready by 8 a.m., so set an alarm."

_Great._

"Ok, Dad. I'll let you get back to your work. Nite," I said, grabbing one last cookie from the tray and heading back upstairs. Passing by Jasper's room, I noticed his lights were off, meaning he was either out or asleep already. I decided I didn't care which and returned back to my room, resigning myself from yet another wasted day, but not before lying a string of upright thumb tacks in front of Jasper's bedroom door.


	4. Nobody in Your Bed

**Chapter 4:**

**Nobody in Your Bed**

_Do you believe you're missin' out  
That everything good is happening somewhere else?  
But with nobody in your bed  
The night's hard to get through _

_"Jesus" by Brand New_

That night I dreamt vividly, colors and prose blended into a tornado of images that were as fleeting as they were beautiful. They seemed to be some sort of premonition, a signal that something, anything, would hopefully begin to stir within my mind and translate itself onto the page. I hadn't dreamt like this in some time, not since I had been back to Forks last Christmas. I blamed it on the champagne and need to create something striking within me, given the lack of inspiration I had found elsewhere. Perhaps it was something else that caused them altogether.

I awoke to the screeching of the alarm. 8 a.m. After quickly showering, I threw on a light gray hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans. It was October, and the air was beginning to deftly change from summer cool to nose-numbing fall. After hugging Esme and grabbing the muffin she had extended in her palmed hand, I walked toward the massive French doors that led to our backyard, huffing at the lack of Jasper's presence.

My parents threw no less than twenty parties each year, some for work and others just for fun. Themed masques and family barbeques were the norm, with the occasional event held for the town's various societies and organizations. The Cullen home ran parallel to an untouched piece of land that was maintained and protected by the Forks Historical Society. For this reason there was a great amount of focus by the Society's council on preserving our claim in this virginal landscape. It was the reason my parents had purchased their home just a few months after I was born. They relished in the stake it held in Forks history, and felt it their duty to share it with those that valued it as much as they did.

Tonight's party would be no different. It was a semi-annual town event that brought everyone from the high school principal to the Chief of Police. I hadn't been in town for one in what seemed like forever, though it was more likely around sophomore year when I would use it as an opportunity to swipe an expensive bottle of champagne and sneak off to the meadow that ran along the edge of the creek the separated our property from the town's preserve.

"Edward, help me bring these tables over underneath the tent," Carlisle shouted, seeing me peering from within the warm and labor-free confines of the house.

"Explain to me again how manual labor isn't a form of child abuse," I huffed, hiding my slight, crooked smile as I approached.

"First off, you're not a child, Edward. And second, at twenty-two, I could be charging you room and board, and should be, given how well you've done for yourself," he continued, gesturing toward me from one end of an incredibly large, rectangular table.

Picking up the other side, I questioned where Jasper had excused himself to to get out of this obligatory bonding time. Before I could go on, Carlisle must have been reading my mind because he told me to go "drag him out of bed" if I had to. Walking back into the house, I caught Esme in a warm embrace with a brunette, seeing her off through the front door before I could get a look at her face. Something within me stirred, and my curiosity peaked.

"Mom, who was that?" I questioned.

"Oh, that's the young lady from the Forks Historical Society. She came to make sure we had all the details for the party tonight. Such a sweet girl," she pined. "But don't get any ideas, Edward," she continued. "That's the Chief of Police's daughter, and I've already had to swat your brother away from her twice. So, hands off," she giggled, reeling from her momentary act as the "authoritative" parent. "Speaking of your brother, go get him about of bed."

With that I began my way up the stairs toward Jasper's room, pushing away strange yet tingly feelings from my mind. Knowing he was probably pissed at the little present I had left for him in front of his door this morning, I knocked lightly, anticipating a flying shoe or some other object careening toward my head as soon as the door opened. Rather, I opened the door to find something entirely different. A girl. In Jasper's room.

"Ouch," she yelped, sitting on the couch with Jasper knelt in front of her.

"Umm, Dad wants you downstairs," I pushed, confused at the short haired pixie grimacing in pain on his couch.

"Last one," Jasper said, wincing, before turning to make eye contact with me.

_Shit! The tacks…_

"I better go," she spoke.

"Brother, be a dear and distract Mom so I can walk Alice out." His words were venom, clearly directed at my jugular.

Jasper had snuck a girl in his room, and I had foiled her pre-dawn escape plan with little shards of metal intended for the heel of my brother and not her pure reputation.

"Nice to meet you, Alice," I gave with a slight wave, garnering a tight smile from the little girl on the couch before heading back downstairs.

"Edward, help me with these arrangements please," Esme called as I reached the last stair.

"Sure," I replied, following her lead out toward the back yard, clearing the way for Jasper and his little ball of sin to make their way out.

"So Mom, tell me more about Chief Swan's daughter," I pried, closing the door behind me with a nudge of my foot. "I'm intrigued."


	5. Secrets for a Buck

**A/N: So I haven't written anything other than, well, the story so far, and I wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who have read and/or reviewed so far. This story is still new, and I'm working diligently and passionately to make it great and get posts up as quickly as possible. I welcome any and all feedback you may have, and I appreciate every word and suggestion. **

**Perhaps a question is in order: I have an urge to write the point of view of the "voice from beside the fire" (in case you haven't guessed who that may be yet) and wanted to know if that would be something you may enjoy reading. Let me know in the reviews for the chapter!**

**Thanks again, and enjoy!**

**~S**

**Chapter 5:**  
**Secrets for a Buck**

_I wrote more postcards than hooks. _  
_I read more maps than books. _  
_Feel like every chance to leave _  
_is another chance I should have took. _  
_Every minute is a mile. _  
_I've never felt so hollow. _  
_I'm an old abandoned church with broken pews _  
_and empty aisles. _  
_My secrets for a buck. _  
_Watch me as I cut myself wide open _  
_on this stage. Yes, I am paid _  
_to spill my guts._

_"I Will Play My Game Beneath the Spin Light" by Brand New_

After a day spent among tables and flowers and sweat, I decided to head back to my room for a much needed shower and at least a start on getting some thoughts down. I found my mind jumping back to its state early this morning, fraught with messages I didn't yet have the mindset to begin to decode. And images of her, the girl with the chestnut curls. I had only caught a glimpse of her walking out of the door, but for some reason it was all my mind kept repeating, over and over, like some psychedelic sequence played on a screen behind Les Claypool as he banged on his bass guitar. I wasn't one to let things go either, so it was going to have to become worse before it got better.

Walking out of my room, I knocked on Jasper's door. "Jazz?" I said before opening the door.

"Yeah, eight. I'll see you there," he finished, tossing his phone onto the bed.

"Who was that?"

"Alice," he glared.

"Yeah, sorry again about that," I said, not entirely sorry but wanting to patch things up before he made the rest of my visit miserable. Jasper had a knack for making you feel-well, however he wanted you to feel. Just something about him.

"We're heading to Rosalie's later if you want to come. She's renting this amazing place on the edge of the preserve looking down onto the beach. It's sick, bro."

"Why? What happened to the Hale House?" Rosalie's parents had owned and run Forks' only Bed and Breakfast out of an old mansion that lay deep in the woods off a path denoted by a small, yet quaint, sign. It was breathtaking, romantic even, with tall, white columns that framed a large porch that wrapped around the perimeter of the house.

Rosalie had graduated between Jasper and I and had decided to move back to Forks a year into college after her mom became very ill. They never came out and said exactly what it was, but a late-stage cancer was probably the safest guess. She was the only child and her Dad was a mess. I gave her a lot of credit. She was determined and strong, but family always came first to her. I learned this after dating her for a month before graduation. It was hot, she was cool, yet we both knew it wasn't meant to last.

"Her Dad just couldn't keep up with it anymore, so they sold it last winter. He moved north to be closer to his sister, but Rose wanted to stay in Forks."

Rose was a strong flame; hard, but not immune to emotion.

"I'm leaving to pick up Alice at nine, unless you wanna drive. I mean, you kinda owe me from the little stunt you put me through this morning," he glared with a knowing smirk. Jasper loved his cars like he loved his women: sleek, hot, and way out of his price range.

"Yeah, sure. Be ready in thirty," I replied, turning away and heading back to my room to find something to wear that I didn't mind having cheap beer spilled over. I usually wasn't up for "high school" parties, but it had been a long week and I needed some release. The bars in Forks were practically nonexistent, and I didn't feel like making the forty minute drive to Port Angeles alone, so this was really my only option.

A half hour later I met Jasper downstairs and we headed out to the driveway. Getting in the car, I asked Jasper for directions to Alice house and was surprised when he told me she lived down the street. Literally.

"Shit, couldn't she have just walked, Jazz?" I hissed.

"Umm, she would've but her feet are in extreme PAIN for some STRANGE reason..." he growled back, causing me to shut up and stare blankly ahead. Great.

Before too long the door to the house opened and a sprite-like figure skipped down the front stairs with the weightlessness of those little styrofoam packing pieces that are so annoying yet incredibly well-designed for their purpose. I wonder if Jasper felt the same about Alice...

"Hi Edward, I'm Alice and I totally forgive you for the tacks and I really appreciate the ride. And wow, can I just say how amazingly awesome your car is, this seat is like, whoa, so comfortable and, omg is that a stick shift?" she beamed, sending me back on my prior interpretation of her. Now she was more like one of those hyperactive cartoon bunnies that ran from field to field, twitching little pink noses, so incredibly cute and cuddly, yet still immensely annoying.

"Yeah, thanks. And sorry again for that," I replied, glancing to Jasper to see his eyes perk up in the "yeah, she's totally hot and you can't have her" way he did with every new girlfriend. His eyes sparkled thought, hinting that maybe, just maybe, things with Alice were going to be different. I smirked, turning my eyes back to the road to start the drive to Rose's.

After driving for about ten minutes we began seeing red plastic plates tied to trees every few yards, suddenly turning into the woods and off the main road-a sort of road map to Rose's cabin.

"Rose, such a kook," Jasper smiled, squinting through the darkness at the trees lit by headlights ahead. "Yeah, that's it. Follow them down to the left."

Before too long lights began to flicker ahead and the stacks of cars alerted that we had reached our destination. Closing the doors behind us, Jasper and Alice skipped ahead, and I couldn't help but notice how protectively she took his hand in hers. It was an odd sight, yet for some reason didn't incite bile to rise up my throat. Rather, it warmed me for some strange reason, and it was this reason that made me realize how truly separated I had become from human contact and emotion. I was alone, in every sense of the word.

Walking into the house, my senses were met with what I typically associated with high school parties: loud music, warm keg beer, and sexual tension you could cut with a knife. I should hate this type of environment, given my early leap into "adulthood," but I relished in it. It was this type of social shit fest that got me to where I was in the first place. The blog-turned-book I wrote was practically teeming with teenage lust and haphazard hookups, commentary by a then socially awkward Edward Cullen who meant his musings to be found more as satire than a "captivating glimpse into the youth of America," as the NY Times review stamped on the cover of my book had so gracefully stated.

Before I let myself get too wound up, I made my way to the kitchen, knowing Rose would have something stronger than Natty Light hidden in her cabinet. Turning the corner from the living room, I caught sight of two girls-no, women, one blonde, one brunette-gesturing wildly from behind the kitchen island.

"Not knowing quite where to begin," I said loudly in their direction.

"But loving every minute! Oh, Eddie I'm so glad you came!" she squealed, circling around the island and bringing me into a huge Hale hug.

"That's what she said!" roared a voice from the crowd. Fucking high schoolers.

"Hey Rose. It's good to be home," I replied, relishing in the truth of my words.

"Ok, you guys speak in code or something?" came a voice from beside Rosalie. Opening my eyes from our embrace, that same stirring curiosity that filled me upon seeing the retreating brunette at my house two days ago returned.

"Edward, this is Jessica. Jessica, the elusive Edward Cullen," Rose continued, gesturing toward the girl beside her. "And no, it's not code. See little Eddie here is a writer, and I like to remind him of that every time I get the chance, which isn't often."

"Thanks Rose," I replied.

"I still don't get it though," Jessica continued, taking a sip of pink liquid from the martini glass in her hand. Rose was a classy bitch. She could shake up one hell of a martini that rivaled the best bar on Michigan Avenue, even from a rented cabin in the middle of the woods.

"It's a quote from his book. It's like our bat signal or something," Rose explained. "You look like you could use a drink." With that she turned from us and began pulling various bottles out from beneath the island.

"So, you write books?" she continued, taking yet another sip while eyeing me over the rim of her glass. I tried to look at her seriously, but her two-inch, press-on nails were getting in the way.

"Yep," was all I could muster. The tingle I had felt thinking she may have been Chief Swan's daughter was beginning to fade.

"Well, would I know any of your books? Like, are they at Barnes and Noble or something?" With each word from her mouth her IQ dropped exponentially.

"Umm, yeah. You can find it right next to Gullible's Travels and 27,000 Leagues Under the Sea," I responded. God I was a dick.

"Yeah, ok. I think I read that one then. Funny thing seeing you here."

"That's for sure." What the FUCK was I doing at a high school party? Yet before she could get another word in, Rose was back.

"Don't ask, just drink," she said, handing me a large glass filled with an amber colored concoction. I obeyed and downed the glass in three large gulps, welcoming the warmth that began to radiate from my throat and outward toward my limbs. Suddenly, a loud crash was heard in the living room, causing Rosalie to quickly leave the kitchen and giving me an easy escape from Jessica.

I made my way passed the living room and out onto the large deck that stretched the length of the house. Tiki torches lined the edges, illuminating a path down a short hill that led to a massive fire pit that lined the edge of the forest. As I made my way down and away from the din of the party, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and quickly removed it to find a text from Em. I opened the text to find a picture of Emmett's face sandwiched between two rather perky boobs, accompanied by the words "Having the breast time!" causing me to chuckle and run a hand through my windswept hair.

Sitting down beside the fire, I checked my email one last time before placing my phone into my pocket and warming my hands by the fire. Even though it was the end of summer, the night brought with it a chill. After a few moments of silence, I became aware of someone else nearby.

"Former boyfriend to Rose, or friend of Ben's..." came a small, yet pronounced voice from a bench that was just beyond the reach of the fire light.

"Umm, boyfriend, actually, but from a long time ago," I responded, eyes scanning the place from where the voice came.

"Well," the voice continued, but growing louder and closer this time. "Good luck with that," she finished, approaching me and placing a hand on my shoulder, sending a surge of electricity through my body. Turning, I saw her retreating figure, the same chestnut curls that walked out the door to my house two days ago, and the curious intensity within my grew. Before I could snap out of my gaze, she was gone, already back inside the house and, potentially, out of my life forever. I stood up quickly, eyes fixed on where I last saw her, and headed determinedly up the sloped path. Climbing the steps to the deck, I peered into the opened french doors to the living room just in time to see her walk out of the front door. I pushed my way through the crowd as if anchored by her, this unfamiliar pull that drew me after this stranger I desperately needed to see more of.

"Whoa, hey Edward, I've been looking for you. Listen, Alice needs to be home soon so are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, uh, sure Jazz. Meet me by the car in five minutes," I said, not meeting his eyes. After a few moments, the electric feeling began to fade and I knew she was gone. I found Rosalie back in the kitchen, thankfully not with Jessica.

"Hey, Rose. Jasper has to take his girlfriend home so I've gotta run. Thanks so much for the drinks and everything. The house looks great."

"It's a rental cabin, Edward. But thanks. It was really good seeing you," she replied.

"Yeah, you too."

"You going to be around for awhile, or are you jetting off in two days like the usual?"

"No, I'll be here until at least the end of the week. Hoping to get some work done while I'm here, so," I said.

"Well don't be a stranger. Stop by on Wednesday if you want. We can get lunch or something."

"Sounds good. I'll be in touch," I replied, giving her a faint kiss on the cheek before heading out to the car.

Jasper and Alice were already in there, about to christen the backseat. A little touch of the panic button on my key fob would solve that though.


End file.
